


Little Black Dress

by windsorblue



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-23
Updated: 2005-04-23
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:14:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza gets an idea from an advice column.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Black Dress

I'd tried everything I could think of to get his attention. I worked diligently under his command. I was loyal, dedicated - a faithful subordinate to him, when I'd rarely been a subordinate to anyone before him. I'd even saved his life a couple of times. And no, it wasn't as if he'd never acknowledged my existence or some other overwrought bit of romance-novel nonsense - Colonel Mustang certainly did know I was alive; after all, he depended on me, fairly regularly, to cover his ass. However, I had come to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that I wanted more from him than a pat on the back and a promotion - uncomfortable, because I don't like to think of myself as the sort of woman who needs a man.

There is, however, a difference between needing a man and wanting a man.

But in truth, I'd just about given up on the whole idea of actually having him. I suppose some part of me decided that it was nobler to love quietly near than to make demands, or at least, that's what I told myself. More to the point - the point I didn't want to admit to myself, that is - I had no idea how to go about with an actual seduction. I did own a dress...somewhere, and I had put on makeup...once or twice, and I'd certainly dated...on occasion, but the sum total of my seduction experience was negligible, and I didn't want my first spectacular failure at it - and I was certain that it would be a failure, and probably the worst failure of my life, at that - to be with him.

Then one morning, while reading the newspaper, I came across the Advice For Ladies column. I usually skip it, because a woman like me really doesn't need to know how to get the smell of baby spittle out of a sofa cushion, but that day I read it, and inexplicably, it spoke to me.

_"I'm an office worker who is very much attracted to her boss, and I suspect that the attraction is mutual. However, I can't tell for sure. Does he depend on me so much because I'm a good employee, or does he want something more from me? How can I find out for certain what his feelings are without coming right out and asking him? I'm afraid that if I do that and he doesn't have feelings for me, our working relationship will be irreparably damaged and I may lose my job. Help!"_

Very, very rarely do I find myself nodding my head in agreement at the letters sent to an advice column. The answer was:

_"It's very simple. Before leaving the office one day, change into your little black dress. Make sure you stop by his desk on your way out - drop off files, go over tomorrow's schedule, whatever - just make sure he sees you in your little black dress. When he asks what you're all dressed up for, tell him you have a date. If he's interested in you, believe me, you'll find out in no uncertain terms."_

No uncertain terms, eh? That, I liked the sound of. However, there was a problem: I didn't own a little black dress. Furthermore, I had no idea where to acquire a little black dress. So, I called upon the only person I could think of who might be able to point me in the right direction: Gracia Hughes. She'd been married - surely she must know something about how to seduce a man.

Oh, she knew. And she told me in exacting detail. Probably more detail than I needed, actually, but I wasn't going to try to quiet her - she seemed to take pleasure in talking about her husband, and I wasn't about to deny her that. Finally, she gave me a list of things to look for in a little black dress. 'Little' is the key word, she said - make sure it's as short as you feel comfortable with. Accessorize, she said - get shoes and stockings and a purse and a bra to match the dress specifically. Try the bra and the shoes on while wearing the dress so you can make sure they complement each other well. Not too much jewelry, she said - let the dress speak for itself.

With the parameters for success so clearly defined and directions to Gracia's favorite store, I went shopping. I gave the shopkeeper my notes on what Gracia had said, and she read them carefully, looked me up and down, went straight to a short rack filled with little black dresses, pulled one out and handed it to me, with the direction to put it on. It was the prettiest thing I'd ever touched, made from a brocaded black silk, embroidered with tiny flowers worked in silver, gold and black thread. It was short and sleek, slit up the back and sleeveless with a high, square collar. It glimmered in the right light, and as I stepped into the dressing room and removed my uniform I whispered prayers to whatever gods there may be to let it fit me.

It did, so well I hardly recognized myself. The shopkeeper brought me shoes to try on as well, and after the third pair we found some I could walk in. Stockings, purse, bra - with everything on my list checked off, I put my uniform back on, paid, and nearly ran back to the barracks, putting everything safely away while the rest of Colonel Mustang's staff lingered on their lunch break. The idea of them catching me with a shopping bag from a dress shop was almost as distasteful as the nagging, doubtful voice in my head that said the Colonel wouldn't even lift an eyebrow when he saw me in the dress. I tried to push that thought out of my mind, but it was more difficult than one might think, and later that afternoon when the Colonel asked me why I was being so quiet, I lied and said my throat was sore.

When he told me I should go back to my quarters and rest, I thought I saw concern in his eyes.

I practiced walking in those shoes, back and forth across my room while Hayate sat on my bed and watched me with curious puppy eyes, every night for a week. It became easier once I stopped trying to march in them. On the seventh night I sat down next to him, wiggled my toes in the shoes, patted his head and said "Tomorrow." He put his paw on my thigh and licked my hand, which I took to mean he agreed.

At 16:30 the next afternoon, I slipped out of the office and back to my quarters to change - bra, stockings, dress, shoes - so. I took the barrette out of my hair and replaced it with two carved rosewood sticks that had once belonged to my grandmother. I applied the lipstick and mascara that Gracia had sent. I looked in the mirror, tugged at the hem to make sure that neither the garters of my stockings nor the thigh holster I'd slipped my gun into were showing, took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and cracked my knuckles. I was ready.

I walked into Colonel Mustang's office as I always did and placed some files on the corner of his desk. "For your signature, sir."

"Yes, yes," he replied without looking up from his newspaper. "Just leave them there - I'll get to them when I have time."

My heart was pounding and sinking all at once. He was dismissing me without so much as a glance. I had my answer, it seemed, but I wasn't going to let him see the effects of his indifference, so I simply nodded and said "Very well. Good night, Colonel," and I turned on my heel and headed for the door.

"Good night, Lieuten...ant... " I heard his newspaper crumple and his chair scrape against the floor. With one hand on the doorknob I turned to look back at him over my shoulder. He was on his feet, his newspaper in one clenched fist, his mouth half-open and his eyes wide and focused on my backside. I was suddenly very glad I'd chosen the stockings with the seam up the back, because his gaze was traveling that line, down and back up again. "Lieutenant..." His voice was strangely breathy as he stepped out from behind the desk. "What are you wearing?"

I turned and tried not to smirk. "It's a dress, sir."

"Yes, I can see it's a dress, it's quite a lovely dress, actually...why are you wearing a dress?"

I straightened my spine and looked him straight in the eye, which was difficult since his eyes were wandering all over me. "I have a date tonight, sir."

His eyelid twitched. "A...date? With who?"

I paused. Apparently there was a detail I'd forgotten. Who would I be going on a date with, anyway - some man from town? No, he'd know that was a lie. Major Armstrong? No, he was away. I blurted out the first feasible name that came to me. "Havoc, sir."

"Havoc?" Something in his expression changed, from admiring to angry. "Havoc?!? You're going on a date, in that dress, with Havoc?" He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw firming as he spoke. "Well, no, you're not going. You're not going on any date with Havoc, because I need you. Here. Tonight. Now. Er - to do some work. Yes, to do some work for me, here, tonight, now...overtime! Yes, that's it - I need you to work overtime. Overtime tonight, and probably tomorrow, and possibly all next week. In fact, for the foreseeable future, I'm going to need you to stay here. With me. Working overtime, of course."

I raised an eyebrow. Apparently, it was working. "Sir," I said calmly, "The military doesn't authorize overtime for office work."

His mouth opened and shut a couple of times before he spoke. "I am the Colonel here, and I will authorize whatever I damn well please! Besides, you shouldn't be going on a date with Havoc, anyway."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because Havoc's a royal fuck-up who doesn't deserve a woman like you, that's why no...ah...I mean, because Havoc is a...highly trained professional. Yes, that's it. Havoc is a highly trained professional, and his attentions should remain focused on his work. Not on women. No, Lieutenant - Havoc's attentions should not at all be focused on women."

"Just a few days ago, sir, you ordered Fuery, Breda and Farman to find Havoc a girlfriend."

"That was then and this is now. Besides, I didn't mean you, damn it!"

It was at that rather inopportune moment that Havoc decided to come in. "Colonel Mustang, Lieutenant...whoa! Nice dress, Hawkeye!"

"Thank you, Havoc," I replied with a smile. He looked almost as surprised by the smile as he'd been by the dress.

Colonel Mustang held a gloved hand up in front of Havoc's face, his fingers poised to snap. "Havoc, your date for this evening is cancelled," he snarled.

Havoc - poor Havoc - he looked so confused. "My date, sir? What date?"

The Colonel's voice came out angrier than I think I'd ever heard it before. "The date you had with Hawkeye, that's what date!"

Havoc turned to me with wide eyes. He looked me up and down and whimpered, pointing to himself, "You had a date with...me? Tonight?"

"You mean you forgot?!?" Colonel Mustang roared. "How could you forget that you had a date with Ri - with Lieutenant Hawkeye? And after she got all dressed up for you! What kind of pathetic excuse for a man are you, anyway?"

"I..." Havoc stammered.

"Get out. Get out before I singe you bald!"

Havoc didn't need to be told twice - he scuttled out the door as the Colonel brought his hand up to eye level, the threat unspoken but still very real. Then the Colonel - Roy...I need to start thinking of him as Roy - turned to me and placed his hands on my shoulders, gently, as if he thought I'd vanish if his touch was too rough. His palms made little circles on my shoulders and upper arms. "I'm sorry, Riza," he said, and I think it was the first time I'd ever heard him address me by my first name. "Please accept my apologies on behalf of all males everywhere."

"That's...not really necessary, sir..." I replied. I was getting damned close to admitting the whole ruse and Havoc's non-role in it.

"Of course it is. I know - why don't you let me take you out tonight instead? I know a place we can go for dinner - a nice place, where a woman wearing a dress like that should be seen. What do you say?"

Well, bloody hell. It had actually worked. I smiled and hoped I didn't look too triumphant. "If you insist, sir..."

He took my arm and opened the door for me. "Roy. Don't call me 'sir' when I'm taking you out to dinner."

I smiled again - I couldn't help it. "If you insist, Roy."

For the record, it was a very nice dinner, and as he walked me back to my quarters he said, "If I were to ask you for another date tomorrow night, would you be so kind as to wear that dress again?"

I turned to him and leaned against my door. "Wouldn't you tire of seeing me in the same dress two nights in a row?"

His answer was so honest, so sincere - I had never known he could be so honest before that night. "I could see you in that dress every night for the rest of my days and never tire of it."

I couldn't help it. I kissed him on the cheek. A smear of lipstick on his skin made it indelible, impossible for me to deny having done it later. "That's too bad," I murmured, pushing the door open behind me. "Because I was going to suggest that once you tired of the dress that you could take it off of me." I stepped back, playing coy - who knew flirting could be such fun? - and slipped past my door into my quarters, smiling at the pure shock on his face. "Goodnight, Roy."

I shut the door and heard the latch click into place before his voice called through the wood. "I changed my mind - I'm tired of that dress right now. Right this second, as a matter of fact!"

I slipped off my shoes and called back, "See you in the morning, Colonel."

I could almost hear him smile as he replied. "See you in the morning, Riza."

I think I'll be going back to that shop this afternoon. I want to see if they have the dress in red.  



End file.
